Page 40 of Tame Me

“I met Peter at school. We attended the same college and I ran into him shortly after moving into the dorms,” she answers, her voice coming out strong as she looks at the man in front of her and keeps her eyes away from Peter. “He asked me out a few times and I didn’t agree to a date with him immediately.”

“But you did agree to a date with him eventually?”

“Yes. The day of our date, I knew it wasn’t going to go anywhere,” she answers, letting her eyes land on me where I sit in the courtroom.

“Can you tell me why you knew it wasn’t going anywhere?”

“I grew up in a motorcycle club. My dads are bikers and so are my brothers. Peter didn’t like that and saw me as less than him because that’s where I grew up. When he came to pick me up, he didn’t come to the door and sat in his car, sending me a text message to let me know he was there for me. I walked out to the car and he pulled away before I even had my seatbelt on. There was no greeting or anything from him. Peter sped through town and only sped up when I asked him to slow down.

“When we got to the diner he chose to take me to, Peter parked the car and didn’t even think to help me out. He simply walked into the diner and left me on my own. When I finally made it inside on my own, he had an attitude. We exchanged some words and I left him there alone. I walked back toward campus and talked to my dad for a few minutes before hanging up with him. Peter pulled up and almost hit me with his car. He got out and grabbed my arm, forcing me to get in his car while yelling at me,” Reagan says, tears filling her eyes as she remembers that day and everything he did to her.

“Did he take you back to campus?”

“Yes. He pulled up in front of my dorm and got me out of his car. He led me into the dorm where we ran into some girls living there. In the car he had hit me in my face and my cheek was red. By this time, I was on the phone with my now husband so he could hear what was going on. After some small talk with one of the girls I share a class with, Peter made an excuse and we headed for my room. That’s when everything turned to shit. Peter hurt me before my room door was even open. The second we got in my room, he lost himself completely. Everything in my room was destroyed by him. When he got done shredding all of my belongings, Peter turned his attention to me.

“He beat the hell out of me and attempted to rape me. I have a seizure disorder and haven't had seizures for a long time. Because of his attack, I’ve had a seizure and have lost out on everything that I gained like being able to drive. I’m back on my medicine and will have to undergo yearly testing. Peter also injured my arm and wrist. I have a rod and pins in it now. There was swelling to my knee that they thought would have to be surgically repaired. I had a ton of injuries and stayed in the hospital for longer than I wanted. Now, I have to go through physical therapy to help heal the damage that has been done by Peter. I’m still unsure if I’ll be able to work in my chosen field when therapy is done. So that’s another possibility that’s been taken from me,” Reagan says, her voice breaking as she relives that time in her life.

She’s asked a ton more questions about what happened when she was on campus, the threat he made to her, him stalking her, and everything else. Reagan also talks about when she was held hostage by Peter and Precious. She doesn’t mention anything about Connor, answering the questions in a way that she’s not lying, but isn’t bringing up the one person the police will never find. My wife knows what she’s doing and it makes me love her even more because she’s showing us all how fucking strong she is today.

Peter’s lawyer gets up and tries to rake her over the coals. Making it seem as if Reagan is a slut and was sleeping with multiple men before she even met Peter at school. Reagan lets him know that she was a virgin until shortly before she married me. That I’m the only man she’s ever had sex with. When that tactic doesn’t work in Peter’s favor, the lawyer changes up tactics and tries to rip her story to shreds in other ways. It doesn’t work because the man didn’t do a single bit of research into Reagan or anything about what was done to her. He tries to use the medical reports against her and it backfires in his face. Peter is gonna spend the rest of his life in prison because his parents couldn’t get him a good lawyer. This guy is fucking idiot.

Tearing my eyes from my wife, I pay attention to Peter. He’s pissed as fuck as he sits glaring at Reagan. His entire body is rigid with tension and the skin that’s exposed on his face and neck shift from being red as fuck to pale as hell. He knows with every word my wife speaks that he’s losing this case. Thankfully, the judge thought ahead because at one point when Reagan’s speaking, he starts yelling and jumps up from his chair to lunge at her. There are cops sitting behind him and they get him back in his chair before handcuffing him to a bar on the table in front of him. Peter continues to shout and make an ass of himself for several minutes before the lawyer he has manages to calm him down.

Reagan is soon done with her testimony and can leave. We all file out of the courtroom with every single one of us glaring in Peter’s direction on our way out. My wife is sitting in a chair with her hands covering her face as she cries. I pull her up into my arms and carry her from the courthouse. I’m not going to let her linger in here for a second longer than she needs to be in here. I carry her all the way to my truck where Savage opens the door for us and I put her in her seat. Before pressing a kiss against her lips, I fasten her seatbelt and tell her how fucking strong and amazing she is. I close the door behind me and let my shoulders slump because I know the rest of the day is gonna be hell for her.

“Where are you takin’ her?” Reaper asks as he straddles his bike and waits for me to answer.

“I’m takin’ her home. She needs to climb in bed and sleep. The last week has been pure hell for her and I plan on makin’ sure today she sleeps and doesn’t do anythin’ else she doesn’t have to. I already rescheduled her therapy appointment so she doesn’t have to worry about that. I won’t shut my phone off, but don’t call me unless you absolutely need me. Today is all about my wife and bein’ there to support her,” I answer my President as I start to walk around the front of the truck.

“You got it. Tell her we’re all so fuckin’ proud of her,” he says before starting his bike while I climb in the driver’s seat.

Savage doesn’t say a word from the backseat. He places a hand on his sister’s shoulder while I rest a hand on her thigh. We make the trip home in silence. Reagan stares straight ahead and I know she’s not seeing any of the scenery passing by. When I pull into the driveway of the house, Reagan doesn’t even realize we’re home. I pull into the garage and park before shutting the engine off and getting out. By the time I reach Reagan’s door, Savage already has it opened. Pulling Reagan into my arms after getting her seatbelt unfastened, I carry her into the house and straight to the bedroom we’re still using.

After Savage gives her a hug, he closes the door behind him and goes out to the living room. I know he’s not leaving our house at all today. Stripping Reagan out of her clothes, I help her slide between the sheets and cover her up before stripping down to my boxers and getting bed next to her. I hold Reagan in my arms as she cries silent tears and snuggles up even closer to my body. It doesn’t take long for sleep to claim my wife. Reagan still has tears sliding down her face as she sleeps and I don’t let her out of my arms. Even when she shifts positions, I still hold her close and whisper soft words to her when it seems like she’s having a nightmare. I’ll spend the rest of my life like this and not be angry or upset about it at all. This is how Reagan needs me right now and I’ll give her the support she needs. Always.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Reagan

THE LAST THREE weeks have been absolutely insane. So much has happened and things are changing every single day. The first is that the trial is finally over with. Everyone testified and spoke out about Peter and the damage they’ve suffered at his hands. No, I didn’t listen to anyone who testified after giving my own. Not only was it not allowed, but I wouldn’t have been there anyway. I was more than content to wait for the call from the lawyers to let me know what happened with the trial when the jury finally came back with a verdict. This morning I got the call I’ve been waiting for. Precious and Peter have been found guilty and sentenced as of this morning. They will be serving a very long time in prison. Peter will be old as fuck if he lives that long by the time he can even try to get paroled. I don’t care about Precious. However, her sentence is a long one as well.

Trax was home with me when I got the call. When I got off the phone, I had tears of happiness rolling down my face. He picked me up in his arms the second I told him what was said and kissed the hell out of me. We sat on the couch as I let all the pain, hurt, and anger go when it comes to Peter. For myself I have to forgive him. Not because he deserves it but because it’s the only way I’m going to get any kind of peace. I will never forget what Peter did to me or how scared he made me feel. He’s scared, taunted, and made me fear walking around campus. The asshole plays mind games when he doesn’t get his way. He’s a fucking child because his parents have spoiled him rotten and made him believe that nothing will ever hurt him. So, I choose to forgive the asshole for everything so I can finally start to move forward with my life.

Therapy is going really good. I’ve made so much progress already. My knee isn’t really bothering me as much as I thought it would. There are days that there’s swelling and it hurts while others it feels really good to stretch out and walk around as normal as I possibly can. My arm and wrist are also getting stronger every single day. My therapist is impressed with the progress I’ve made and is giving me more things to do on my own and cutting back on our sessions at the house.

I’ve even picked up my drawing again. The first time I tried to draw anything, my wrist hurt so bad. I wasn’t able to draw for more than a few minutes. Every single day I pick up my pencil and draw a little bit longer each time. The damage I suffered at Peter’s hands didn’t take away my ability to draw and do the one thing I love more than anything else in the world. As long as I continue to work every single day, it won’t be long before I’m able to draw full time like nothing happened to me. I’m already almost there.

Today, I have an interview at Fallen Ink with Cash. I know I want to open my own shop, but I’m not about to become competition for the club and I don’t want to leave Clinton City to open my own shop. So, I’ve decided to see if I can get in at Fallen Ink. I can let Cash know what I’m going to school for and he can decide if he wants to step back doing the books for the shop on his own since he’s the Treasurer for the club and handles all the books for every business. It would be one less thing he has to worry about if I took over for him. But, that’s not something I have to worry about right now. My main focus is getting in the door and working with Cash to become a tattoo artist.

Trax is fully supportive of me doing what I have to do when it comes to my career. He doesn’t want me to be stuck doing something I don’t want to do because I feel I have to get a job at Fallen Ink. If I want to open my own shop, he’s fully prepared to help me in any way he can to get it done. For now, I’m going to see what Cash has to say and see if I can get a job with the club’s shop. Once I get in there, I can see how I like working with them and find out if it’s a good fit for me. If not, then I’ll re-evaluate the situation and make decisions to move forward.

“Pixie, are you ready to go?” Trax asks, walking in the bedroom where I have my portfolio out on the bed to go through everything one last time before heading out to the shop.

“Yeah. I think I have everything I need. Have you talked to Cash?” I ask him, nervous about going for this interview.

Yes, I worked with my uncle Irish when I was still in Clifton Falls. However, I don’t really know Cash at all. I’ve seen him around the clubhouse and things, but we haven’t spent any time talking. I do know Kidd and he’s one of the tattoo artists at Fallen Ink. He’s assured me Cash is a good guy and will take my work into consideration above most anything else. As long as he knows I can do the job and not fuck up, I’m pretty much guaranteed a position within the shop. At least that’s what Kidd says.

“No. I’m not gonna put my two cents into this situation. You’ll get this job based on your own merits and I won’t say a word to anyone because I know Cash. This is your area of expertise and I know nothin’ more than gettin’ ink done,” he says, a smile on his face as he steps up behind me and wraps his arms around my stomach with his hands covering the area our baby grows.

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